


Luscious Dream

by Evenseven



Category: Gomorra - La Serie | Gomorrah (TV), L'Immortale (2019)
Genre: 2021 is so far away, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Fluff and Angst, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Pillow Talk, Post-Canon, spoilers for the film
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 08:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21716107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenseven/pseuds/Evenseven
Summary: No word was necessary, it’s better to pretend they didn’t need assurance of any kind, it had always been like this.
Relationships: Ciro Di Marzio/Gennaro "Genny" Savastano
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Luscious Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Wait a second and let me get this straight, so in canon it is (probably) actually babysitter!Ciro?? That. So. Hot.  
Not relevant in any way but, maybe just the title → [Haunted Dream](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20611079)

“I was dreaming.”

He heard a voice calling his name, so tenderly, almost like the person was scared of waking him up. Then he opened his eyes, to see a pair of stunning dark iris looking back at him, inches shy from his face. Those black obsidians were like stars hidden in the deepest night, but more than that, with something soft and adorable inside.

Ciro opened his mouth to offer just a few words, but his voice was just hoarse after some time spent in the dream.

“About what?” Genny was the source of that tender voice, he just realized, so he threw himself a bit closer to the other man, burying his face in that broad and warming chest. The bed was nowhere near opulence, but was big enough to fit both of them in while holding each other.

He felt warm, secure, a strange luxury he could no longer dream of. It let him feel that he could finally rest a little, finally take off the indifferent mask and all the burden on his shoulders, just to rest a second longer. Almost as if he could forget aboutwho he was, what did his name mean, and what kind of hardships was still waiting to ambush him. There’s something about Gennaro Savastano that was so different, that he could achieve something no other mankind could done, to comfort Ciro in a strangely indescribable way. They knew each other too well, for too long, and they had loved and hated each other for too deep, too intense. And after surviving yet another time of gun-pointing, he needed a dose as strong as Genny, and there he was.

The last time they met, the situation was so familiar yet distinct. Genny had fired that gun, Ciro had made his sacrifice. Never a word after talking about that time in the yacht, but there are things word cannot interfere, like the tears they shed and the look they threw at each other, at the end of everything.

“Home.” Ciro heard himself saying in a whisper, “I dreamed about Naples, everything about Naples. The smell of the city, the food, every corner of the streets. I miss home.”

“That’s why I’m here, to take you home.” Genny’s voice coming from right before his face, he could feel the chest he was leaning on humming in an almost gentle way.

“You don’t have to,” Ciro tried to clear his throat as he teared his face a bit back away, yet the strong arms around him wouldn’t just let him go so easily, so he continued, “I can stay away. I may not be any helpful for you if I go back to Naples.”

“O’Ci’,” a sharp inhale, following by another deep breath like Genny was trying to calm himself down, “And now, you still think you can just go away?”

He didn’t answer, so Genny pushed forward: “You still think we can be separate, after all this, hm?”

And it wasn’t a bluffing, Ciro knew that well. They had tried, to run away from each other, to cool things off for love or hatred, to pretend that they would have a better life without each other, that they never desire, never miss each other. And they had failed significantly, with the price of tasting that almost unbearable bitterness, the heartbroken, the loneliness.

Till death do us apart. And it was proven that even death couldn’t tear them apart. They were bond to each other, forever and ever. They were only complete with each other, they were the same and one, and they should know that by now after all the pathetic attempts.

“I would go back only if you want me to.”

“Like I ever not…” Genny was grinding his teeth again, but cut himself off before cursing something bad out. He didn’t keep going, instead he reached out a hand to caress his jawline, where rough stubbles were pricking his fingertips.

It was a habitual reaction of Genny, ever since he realized he was not so skillful with words, so he chose to arm himself with his vicious look and a bluff, tying to bite down the momentum of his opponents to buy himself some time to form a proper response. A defense mechanism, like the silence Ciro armed himself with nowadays. And Genny was always a bit nervous and awkward in front of him, maybe it’s because they were so close once, because Ciro watched him grew since forever, because he still adored him in a more intimate way than they ever admitted.

“I also dreamed about the past, when I was just a boy.” It was true, and they say you get nostalgic only when you are old. Look at where he ended up now.

“What were you like when you were a boy?” Genny smiled a little, asking with a tone of amused and sincerely curious.

“I was…”

What was he like when he was a boy? He saw the world through the eyes of that boy, but what was he like in eyes of others?

He was once naive, arrogant, lonely, indignant, sad, in love, fulled of hope and desire, confident, shrewd…He was betrayed, when he tasted trust and admiration for the first time, he learned a hard lesson he could never forget. It hurt so much, even until now, it hurt too much that he couldn’t act like it has no affect on him ever. He learned that it’s better to betray before being betrayed, to hurt others before getting hurt, to escape and protect himself from heartbroken before devoting too much.

He never chose to be like this. He never chose to be alone, to grow up all alone, to risk his neck just so he could get a loaf of bread, to be bruised and broken, to have scars all over his torso, to be disappointed, to kill a man, to kill himself.

The loneliness was almost insufferable at a point, but he had been enduring the pain and desperation for so long. Loneliness had become an old friend of him, it was filled in his every breath, piercing through his bones, and drowning his brain into darkness. He was lonely so he desired to love and beloved, in return he found only disappointment and betrayals.*

It was hard to admit but he had been thinking more than a few times, that he didn’t deserve any love and affection. It’s all punishment for him and he couldn’t appeal, the isolation, the nightmares if not insomnia, the year in Bulgaria, the overflow emotions devouring his mind that he had been suppressing, the sharp ache he felt in his left chest running barely a few steps, the feeling of insecure and fear, the immortality.

He wanted to die, and it was not just a glimpse of thought. But he couldn’t, he was sentenced to a much more severe penalty of immortality, of endless suffering.

But Genny didn’t need to know any of these, so Ciro decided to spare the young man some more troubles. Genny must have realized he was drowning in memory again, so he decided to break the taciturnity: “Is that all you were dreaming about?”

“I dreamed about you, our memories. Our time together, everything. Good, bad, the beauty, the ugly, scars, sounds of gunfire, mud and smoke, and the sky. Pure blue, without a slice of cloud. We were lying on the backyard of the house of Savastano, and you were smiling at me with a beer in hand. You looked at me like you’re about to swallow me in one gulp, but you were barely thirteen.” He couldn’t remember the last time he poured out so many words at once.

Genny let out an embarrassed grunt, so Ciro looked up to find the young man purring: “That’s because you were always showing off you charming hips like a peacock, and don’t say you weren’t enjoying my attention.”

“I wasn’t going to…” He couldn’t help but form a smile, for the first time in god knows how long. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been talking so much either, and it’s all because of Genny coming all the way from the South to get him.

Gennaro Savastano was different, always different, his embrace was always warm and anchored, his eyes were always soft despite the surface of rage at some times, and his silly smile, though not seemed easily since the South America incident, was like a glance of sunshine outstretching through Ciro’s life in the darkest, coldest night. Ciro knew he would only be complete with Genny, that he could pretend he was someone else, someone good.

“Don’t you shave anymore?” Ciro let his right hand climb up to Genny’s face, he shifted closer to the pillow so they could look at each other in the eyes.

“We’re perfect for each other, then.”

“I thought you said I’m pretty.”

“You are, you always are.”

Their faces were so close that he could feel Genny’s breath, warm and humid. Ciro blinked a few times looking at the other pair of stunning eyes, that’s when he felt his thumb brushing against the scar he left on his cheek.

“I guess we’re even now.” He whispered in a low voice, almost indiscernible, but Genny suddenly disturbed a little and grabbed his hand, getting it away from that scar.

“Thinking about running away from me again?” His voice was tensed, mixing with sincerity, rage, and fear, “I won’t let you go this time, because we are not even, never. And don’t ever think about doing that shit sacrifice for me again, I’m serious. You own me something else, and you know it.”

“I know.” This was all he said when closing his weary eyes again.

He knew that he owned him something else, something more intimate than handshakes and hugs, more genuine than promises and vows, more fierce than gunshots and explosions. It was never life or blood that tied them together, but something unique,indescribable, and fervent.

It was love.

“You look really tired, you should get some rest before we head back to Naples.”

“I don’t want to sleep.” Ciro tried his best to open his heavy eyelids, but Genny said nothing apart from dropping a tender kiss onto his forehead.

There was only silence between them, but he knew what the young man meant with that kiss. He was going to say that he won’t leave him, that he didn’t need to worry about anything, that he loved him.

No word was necessary, it’s better to pretend they didn’t need assurance of any kind, it had always been like this.

Darkness creeped in, Ciro thought he had lost the ability to hope, but now he hoped when he opened his eyes again, Genny would still be there lying by his side, the humming breath was real, and the warmth from his broad chest would never fade.

**Author's Note:**

> * "Il domani di un uomo che dentro ha una ferita incancellabile e rincorre disperatamente un sentimento. Tenta in ogni modo di essere amato, prova a trovare qualcuno che gli voglia davvero bene. E al posto dell’amore, incontrando solo delusioni e tradimenti, reagisce in modo feroce, atroce, ingiustificabile."  
_Marco D'amore_ on Ciro and L'Immortale. VanityFair, 12/12/19.
> 
> And Ciro woke up and found out Genny's not there by his side.  
I need to see the old married couple life of G/C, aka Gomorra 5. It's urgent.
> 
> Also, summarize this fic in one gif:


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